Chapter 4
The sheer audacity of Michael’s challenge hung heavily in the bright, cinematic air of the guest room. The thirty-nine-year-old brother stood with his fists clenched, his dress shirt straining across his chest, genuinely believing that his sudden burst of aggressive bravado could topple the veteran Mafia boss.
Dominic did not immediately react. He kept one arm securely wrapped around his trembling, eighty-year-old mother, his broad shoulders shielding her from the hostility. His expression was a mask of cold, terrifying stone.
"You think," Dominic whispered, his voice incredibly low, the controlled pauses highlighting his absolute, lethal composure, "that you are capable... of taking my seat."
"I am more than capable!" Michael shouted, his fair face flushing a deep, angry red. "The capos are already whispering about how soft you've become! You spend your days managing the estate instead of ruling the streets! The family needs a real boss!"
Blinded by his own adrenaline and a desperate need to assert his dominance over the situation, Michael made the final, fatal mistake of his life. He mistakenly interpreted Dominic’s protective stance over their mother as a vulnerability.
"And she is the reason you are weak!" Michael snarled.
He lunged forward, reaching his hand aggressively toward Donna once again, intending to physically drag the elderly woman away from Dominic's protective embrace to prove his power.
Dominic’s reaction was instantaneous and executed with the flawless, brutal precision of a man who had survived decades in the criminal underworld.
As Michael’s hand extended toward Donna, Dominic shifted his weight. With blinding speed, he reached out and caught his younger brother by the front of his crisp dress shirt. Dominic’s grip twisted the expensive fabric, completely arresting Michael’s forward momentum and locking him in place.
Before Michael could even register the danger or attempt to break the hold, Dominic utilized the immense, deeply masculine power of his core. He pulled Michael violently forward, simultaneously driving a forceful, devastating knee strike directly into his younger brother’s upper body.
The impact was catastrophic. The sound of breaking ribs cracked loudly, echoing off the high ceilings of the bright, sunlit room.
All the air detonated from Michael’s lungs in a sudden, wet gasp. His eyes bulged in absolute, breathless agony. The sheer kinetic force of the strike lifted him slightly off his polished leather shoes.
Dominic released his grip on the shirt. Michael doubled backward violently, his body folding in on itself as he completely lost all muscular control. He dropped like a stone, crashing heavily onto the plush carpet. He writhed on the floor, clutching his shattered chest, unable to draw a breath, emitting only pathetic, wheezing groans.
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Watching her co-conspirator fall in a matter of seconds, Hattie let out a sharp, terrified shriek. She recoiled violently, stumbling backward until her back hit the solid wood of the doorway frame. She pressed herself against the molding, her eyes wide with unadulterated horror as she stared at the monster she had married.
There was no dialogue. The overwhelming, brutal reality of the violence silenced everyone in the room. The bright, vivid colors of the estate felt like a grotesque, mocking backdrop to the dark, undeniable truth: the king of the syndicate was fully awake, and he was taking no prisoners.
